


Not As Planned

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia knows an invitation when he hears one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not As Planned

Title: Not As Planned  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Hetalia  
Pairing: Russia/England  
Rating: PG  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

One of the things England prided himself on most was his punctuality. He always made a point to arrive well before anyone else did whenever meetings were organised. That was why he took it as an insult to his time keeping one morning when he discovered he was not the first person to turn up.

“Good morning, comrade,” Russia greeted.

“Er,” England replied, suppressing a shudder. And, because he never forgot his manners, he added, somewhat belatedly, “Good morning.”

Russia gave him a sunny smile. It made England’s blood run cold.

He had to find a way to distract himself from the painfully awkward situation of being alone with Russia, and to simultaneously recover from his surprise in the process.

The solution, quite obviously, was tea.

Just the motion of brewing the beverage was enough to make England feel a little more settled again. It even made him feel charitable enough to offer Russia a cup (because he was, after all, a gentleman).

“I would love some,” Russia said politely. “Thank you very much.”

At least he had the good grace to respond appropriately. England would give him that much.

“Milk and sugar?” he asked.

“Yes, please.” Russia’s smile brightened. “This is how it should be, no? A good wife being attentive to their husband’s needs?”

“Er,” England said. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Forced or otherwise, laughter might offend Russia. England decided to play it safe by changing the subject. “Biscuit?”

“That would be lovely.”

Preparation over, England served Russia first before getting seated and taking his own tea.

The tea should have calmed England down. It usually did. Tea was one of the few remaining constants in his life. Today was different. England just couldn’t enjoy it while being surrounded by such oppressive silence.

Russia didn’t seem too bothered. His eyes never left England for a second. It made England want to squirm uncomfortably.

He briefly considered starting up a conversation about something inane to pass the time, but felt too on edge to think of anything worth saying.

So, he turned his attention to his embroidery instead, silently willing someone, anyone, to turn up. Even France would be welcome. England didn’t think he could stand being stared at for much longer.

He concentrated on the task before him, purposely ignoring Russia. It made him feel a little better, but not much. He could still sense Russia’s gaze on him.

Suddenly the silence was broken as a voice spoke into England’s left ear.

“What a charming piece of work.”

A choked noise forced itself past England’s throat to find Russia standing beside him (when had he *moved*?), looking contemplative.

England had been so startled he’d accidentally pricked his finger on the needle he’d been holding. A small drop of blood began to well up from the wound. He moved to get his handkerchief but Russia beat him to it.

England had to swallow back a yelp when Russia reached for his wrist and guided his finger into his mouth to suck away the blood. He sat frozen to the spot, his eyes wide with disbelief. Russia’s eyes were closed in contrast. He seemed suspiciously like he was savouring the experience.

“There,” he said pleasantly, drawing away. “All better. It would not do for you to fall asleep for a hundred years. Even the most virtuous prince would find his patience tested if he had to wait that long for a kiss.”

England laughed weakly. “You tell funny jokes.”

“And you make the most varied and interesting expressions,” Russia replied. “I have the feeling I would never get bored of looking at them.”

Now England was disturbed. Unfortunately, it showed on his features.

“Ah," Russia said. "A stricken face. This one I approve of.”

England turned away, his cheeks flooding with heat.

Russia’s lips twitched. “Your embarrassed face is also very appealing. I think I would enjoy seeing more of it.”

England cursed himself for being so easy to read. Russia was toying with him. It was starting to get annoying.

“And here comes the angry face.” Russia sounded amused. “Your body is truly honest, comrade, though your words are often not. How endearing.”

This, England thought, could almost be considered a form of torture. Russia was testing him, seeing how much pressure he could take before he broke.

England’s stubborn streak kicked in. “I regret to inform you that I have no intention of providing entertainment. This is not my house, and therefore not my duty to treat you as an honoured guest.”

He knew he’d messed up royally when Russia beamed in delight.

“I know an invitation when I hear one and will gladly pay a visit to your residence. It is, as they say, a date? I look forward to receiving your kindness.”

Apparently satisfied, Russia headed back to his own seat, leaving England to drown in his own despair as the same three words ran through his head over and over again: “Buggering bastard bollocks.”

 

End.


End file.
